


If He Could Say Anything

by AmateurScribes



Series: Whumptober 2019 [23]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bleeding Out, Bullet wound, Character Death, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kissing, Prompt Fic, Unrequited Love, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2021-01-02 02:43:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21154268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmateurScribes/pseuds/AmateurScribes
Summary: There's a lot of things that Grif doesn't know- as Simmons said once, he could probably write the world's longest novel if he even attempted to jot them all down.What Simmons doesn't realize is that some unsaid words of his would be in that book as well.





	If He Could Say Anything

**Author's Note:**

> Genuinely thought that this would be the one that would catch me slipping, I was like half-asleep when I was writing this- still kinda am- and I totally blame the cold weather, ugh it sucks soooo much, it makes me so lethargic can we go back to it being hot as hell already?
> 
> For the duration of this event, all mistakes are my own.

Grif's taken plenty of hits before, staggered through the pain and continued moving because if he didn't then he'd die, and that's the last thing he'd want to do, right behind meaningless work.

But there's just something so very different about bleeding out and being the only one to witness it.

Well, that's not exactly true, Simmons was right there next to him, fretting in concern as he pushed down hard against the bullet wound.

"You're gonna be fine,  _ Grif," _ he tried to reassure, but given the way that his voice cracked and raised an octave, Grif just knew that he was on the verge of a complete and utter breakdown.

Groaning through the pain, he tries his best to throw in a snarky, "Sure doesn't sound that way, Dick."

"Don't sass me I’m trying to help," the maroon soldier hissed, increasing the force behind his push, causing Grif to wince and shift in pain. "Sorry, I- fuck, sorry."

"It's-" he let out a sharp exhale of air.  _ "-fine." _

"The others are going to get medical help," Simmons informed him, unhelpfully for like the ninth time in the past hour.

"Why didn't they- bring me- with them?" he asked, feeling lightheaded, vision starting to produce doubles, near passing out from the pain of it all.

Simmons ignored his question, focusing on staunching the blood flow, "I'm sure they're gonna come back with Grey, and while she's not the most conventional doctor, she's our best bet."

"Yeah," he leaned his head back against the barricade wall. "Right."

"Grif-" Simmons started to say something but cut himself off. "Never mind."

"No," he swallowed down blood. "Say it."

"The last time-" Simmons choked back a sob. "The last time that I thought- that I really thought that you'd die, and, well, that I'd die too was back in Rat's Nest. Do- do you remember?"

How could he not? He'd been thinking of that moment constantly, wondering what Simmons had been about to say before he had interrupted him, needing to know what the other man would have left his last words as.

But he didn't exactly have the strength for words right now, so he just answers with a simple, "Yeah."

"I had been about to tell you something, something that would have changed everything between us," Simmons continued, not looking Grif in the eyes. "And- I had been so close to saying it too! But then you interrupted me and- I just-" he sighed.

Staring at him with a longing in his eyes, Grif said, "Tell me it now."

"But," Simmons looked back at him, unshed tears filling his eyes. "I was only going to say it because I thought I'd be going right alongside with you. I can't- don't make me-"

Expression hardening, Grif asked again, more force behind his words, "Tell me, Simmons."

Simmons stayed quiet, looking at him and not removing his hands from Grif's stomach. Then the man sighed and nodded his head.

"I will- I, Grif," he stumbled over the proper way to start. "That day, I was going to tell you..."

He didn't continue, and he seemed frustrated even by it.

Smiling softly, stained with bittersweet acceptance, Grif reached out a shaky hand to hover over the other man's chest plate.

Lifting his chest up as best he could, fire blossoming where the bullet had entered his body, an ugly grimace crossing his face, he brought his face as close to Simmons' as he possibly could. Then, leaning forward he connected their lips, holding the other man in a lifeless and empty display of affection, for Simmons didn't reciprocate the action.

Pulling back, Grif settled back down against the barricade wall, satisfied in a way that left him knowing that he would never get what he wanted most.

Simmons looked guilty, and it was obvious with the way that he spoke, "Grif-"

"It's ok," Grif nodded his head, looking away from the maroon colored soldier. "It's fine, I don't know what I expected."

The other man didn't know what to say to that.

A tear- and just a single one, Grif didn't want to go out crying like a fucking idiot after all- cascaded down his cheek, as his vision blurred from how wet they were getting and his light-headedness.

"It's not fair to you," Grif informs him, tilting his head to the side so that he could face Simmons, cheek resting against the cool material of the barricade. "It's not fair, I'm sorry."

"I should be the one saying that to you," Simmons told him, an indescribable look on his face.

"I can't expect you to say to me what I just so desperately wanted to hear from you," he continued, not deterred by the addition. He closed his eyes, partly because it hurt to try and force his eyes to see, but also because he was very weary and tired all of a sudden. "You're not even actually hear to tell me what you were going to say that day. It's not fair."

Opening his eyes, the illusion of Simmons had disappeared, along with the pressure that had been holding him together, and Grif was oh so very much alone as his life started to fade and flush away from his body.

This was to be expected, after all, given the kind of rotten, dirty, good for nothing luck that he had inherited from his family- perhaps as the one notable thing they had going for them.

What he had thought was a barricade was actually the walls of the cave that he had found one day by chance. And there was no open field, in fact, there wasn't even an entrance to the damn place.

He'd- he'd been in there to decompress after everything that happened with that nosy as hell reporter, Andrews or whatever, trying to keep his emotions under tight control when- when-

When part of the mountain that had gone through so much shit during their stay on the moon had succumbed to the pressures of gravity and broke off. Right in front of the entrance of the cave.

He'd been shocked when it had happened, not really absorbing that he had been trapped. But when he did Grif had rushed- well, not rushed, what was the point of exerting energy so soon- over and tried to push against the boulders.

But it wasn't meant to be, they didn't even budge under the full weight of his body pressed against the biggest one.

And he was left panting from the attempt, still in disbelief that he was possibly going to die after purposefully leaving the others to get his  _ goddamned earned fucking break. _

In a fit of anger, his hand had automatically reached for the pistol strapped to his side and began shooting at the blockade.

It was an instinct to do that, how often had they as a group fired round after round into nearby objects or walls in frustration or anger. It was common, it was natural as a way of releasing pent up emotions at that point.

Shot after shot went into the cave in, and perhaps in the back of his mind, he figured that maybe it would create just the right amount of weakness to cause the whole thing to shatter.

But what he wasn't expecting was for one of the bullets to ricochet and hit him straight in the gut, hitting the one spot on his body that wasn't protected by armor.

Grif had stumbled to the cave wall, sliding down from the impact of the shot, and there he stood in shock over what had happened.

Part of him wished that he had thought a little bit more about what he could have used that gun for.

Checking it, just to see if he could do himself a favor, he was dismayed- utterly  _ crushed- _ to find the clip empty.

He should have fired that last bullet into a different organ entirely.

But instead it was lodged, nestled comfortably, in his guts, blooding spilling out profusely, and his clumsy fingers tried to press down on it to stop any more of the liquid from coming out, but by the way that they were going numb, he knew that he couldn't keep it up forever.

And of course, that had led to where his thoughts always ended up.

He couldn't stop himself from thinking about how nice it would have been to have Simmons there with him. To have Simmons hands drenched in his blood in an effort to save his life, to finally confess- well-

It just would have been nice to have anyone there in general, but most of all it'd be him that Grif would like to see last.

And perhaps that's why his brain had decided to play one last mean- but somehow pitying- trick on him, and through a bloody grin- teeth stained red- Grif stared ahead at the opposite cave wall, his eyes fading and becoming dull, and thought-

That if he'd have to die in anyone's company, he's glad that it's Simmons'.

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I'd revisit the idea of Grif dying during his isolation on Iris that I touched upon in my Bad Things Bingo series, except made it much worse here.
> 
> If you'd like to contact me, you can find me at either Tumblr: @agent-murica (main) and @amateurscribes (writing)!


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